Regulus Black—Second Son
by AverageFish
Summary: Despite being the spare heir he grew into his family's expectations—and beyond. Here are a series of snapshots depicting the tragic life of a boy who was raised wrong but grew up to do the right thing, a look at the people who shaped him and the little things that made him human. Written as a series of self-contained short stories (for IWSC). Betad by Eider Down.
1. Nurcher

School and year: Durmstrang, year 7

Theme: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes — take a look at an extravagant magical catastrophe.

Main Prompt: [Character] Auror

Additional Prompts: [Emotion] Excitement, [Action] Explosion

Word count: 3,300

* * *

AN: There are two catastrophes here, the accident that happened and the one Regulus perceives. Also as people rarely explode, I've had an explosion happen next to a person instead.

Regarding self-directed thoughts: not everyone thinks the same way. In Reggie's case, the voice in his head speaks in third person. Just because the voice in your head is different doesn't mean Reggie's (or mine) is wrong. Also, note that the narrator is five and thus often thinks (intentionally on my part) in run-on sentences.

* * *

Summary: It was an accident. A terrible accident and Siri got hurt, but the healers are going to make him all okay. Now there's an Auror snooping through their business, while the paper is writing things about the House of Black. Reggie's too excited about his new friend to worry —and besides, Daddy says he'll make it all go away. Reggie's Family has never let him down before.

* * *

… … _Nurcher_ … …

_They'd just been playing. Really. _

(Well, kind of.)

_It had been a dare, but it hadn't been Reggie's idea._

(Well, almost not his idea.)

_Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods this was all Reggie's fault._

But it was just so annoying when Siri called him a baby, because he wasn't a baby, he was five. Five was big enough to be learning how to spell his own 'nitials. R. A. B. of the House of Black.

When Daddy had asked if he wanted to come with him to the Ministry, Reggie had been excited. It had sounded interesting and much better than sitting with Mummy in Saint Mungle's* Hospital. The healers had told them it was going to be a while before they could visit Siri, and besides Reggie didn't like the way it smelled there—like lemons and old people and fire.

Actually, he liked the smell of fire. Fires were wicked.

He should have stayed at Saint Mungles. This hallway was _boring_.

Daddy had told him to wait here quietly, because he'd be right back once he finished talking with the Auror.

Daddy had said to sit like an heir would. Reggie didn't understand why, because Siri was the heir—but it was better to do what Daddy said, just in case.

Daddy had been talking to the Auror for _forever_.

(_Don't trust the Aurors, Regulus Arcturus, _Daddy would always say._ They will pretend to be kind, but they don't like our family's magic. We can't ever let them know about our special magic, or they'll take it away__._)

Reggie tried counting the paper birds as they flew overhead. One even stopped and looped around him twice.

The wallpaper was all browns and blues, but not in a pretty way like their second sitting room. (Mummy would have turned her nose at it. Daddy would have said,_ It's only natural that places be decorated according to their status__._)

Reggie liked the word _status_. It made nice 't' sounds in between the 's' sounds and was fun to say.

"Status status status—"

"That's a pretty word."

Reggie almost jumped_. __Where had she come from? _Of course he didn't actually jump or fall just because of a girl standing in front of him. After all, he was a son of the House of Black and—

_And wow, she was really pretty. Like a faerie._

"Your hair looks like spun gold," he said, and then remembered he was _s'pposed_ to be acting like an heir.

"Greetings, I'm Regulus Arcturus Black of the Noble-and-Most-Ancient-House-of-Black Howdoyoudo?"

"Hello Regulus Arcturus Black. That's a very long name. Can I call you Reggie?"

Her hair was really shiny—even lighter than Cousin Cissa's. "You're _meant_ to say your name and house, too." It wasn't right otherwise. Things had to be done the-proper-way.

"Pandora Pyxis. Nice to meet you."

_Well, that was all right then__._ "You can call me Reggie," he decided. She'd asked kindly, after all, and he was meant to be a gentle-men.

"So why are you here, Reggie?" Pandora asked, her voice almost as nice as her hair. She sat down beside him, legs swinging from the chair.

Reggie wished he swing his legs like that too—it looked fun. But Mummy would say,_ It isn't proper for a son of the House of Black_, so he didn't. "Daddy said I shouldn't talk to Aurors. Are you an Auror?"

"I'm six," Pandora said.

Reggie supposed that was explanation enough. "It's not my fault," he decided to tell her. It was their 'fficial story, and he and Siri were going to _stick to it._

Probably.

Well—

"It was maybe my fault," he said then, making his voice all careful and quiet. "Siri and I were playing and he called me a baby for not wanting to break into the drawing room cupboard with him so I said I'd do it and then when we tried to get the door open it was stuck.

"Siri said, _We can go flying instead_, but I got the door open by myself and something fell and it started hissing, really angry like a snake in a kettle, and I was really scared but Siri shoved me and then it went _BOOM_ really really loud."

Reggie took a deep breath and wiped away his tears, like a proper gentle-men of the House of Black.

"It sounds to me," Pandora said kindly, "like it wasn't your fault."

At that, Reggie started sobbing. Not the way Siri did, all sneaky and fake. No, they were wet, snotty, _real_ tears.

He wished very hard that they would stop, because Pandora was so nice and lovely. He'd wanted to be friends with her and now she'd think him a crybaby.

And to make it worse, Daddy came out of the Auror's room then, like a storm shaking the windows. "Regulus, what's wrong?" he said, serious and terrible.

But Reggie's nose was blocked up so all he could manage was a wail.

Daddy turned on Pandora then. "What did you do?" he boomed in his worstest voice—and Reggie wanted to cry even harder.

"No, she's my friend," he managed through his tears.

Being strong like Herakles, he stiffened his upper lip. "Pandora's my friend."

Daddy looked at her carefully through his eyeglasses, wearing his careful frown. "Pandora…?"

"Pandora Cyrille Pyxis. My daddy shrunk himself so mummy is doing paperwork."

"Cyrille Pyxis." Daddy hummed. "Was your mother born a Lestrange, perhaps?"

"Yes, I was," a different voice said.

Very much surprised, Reggie made sure not to fall off his chair as he looked up.

She was very tall and her hair wasn't as pretty, but Pandora's mummy looked a lot like her.

"Celestine Pyxis, of the Lestrange Clockmakers. You likely know my third cousins in the main line. How do you do, Mister Black?"

"Pleasure." They shook hands then, the proper adult way.

Reggie realised he'd forgotten to shake Pandora's hand and felt himself turning red. _He'd been so happy to meet her. She had _such _nice hair._

"I believe we have a Pyxis trunk at home," Daddy was saying—Reggie should probably have been paying attention. "Fine expansion charms."

"Yes well, Peregrin does make excellent trunks—_when he isn't undetectably subsuming himself_."

Mrs. Pyxis sounded really angry. _It wouldn't do for Pandora to get in trouble later_. "Father," he said (_Only little children call their parents 'Daddy' and 'Mummy'_, Kreacher had told him). "Now that Pandora is my friend, maybe we should have her over for tea."

When he turned back to Pandora she was glowing like the sun. It made him almost miss the way Daddy said, "Indeed."

(He said it the same way he would when promising they'd get ice cream later. And then not end up getting ice cream later.)

_It didn't matter, Reggie would make sure they had tea together. Because Pandora looked so happy, and she was his friend. He had a friend now! One who was all his own._

"The House of Black shall send you an owl with our invitation," Daddy said in his serious voice. "Now come, Regulus. We must see if you have replaced your brother as our family's heir."

… x …

They said Siri wouldn't be able to come home for a whole week, so Reggie had the house all to himself.

It was exciting the first day, getting to do whatever he wanted and making up all his own games. It was still interesting on the second day.

By the third day, he was terribly, horribly bored. And Pandora _still_ hadn't come over for tea yet. He was worried she'd forget what he looked like.

Or worse, she'd remember him as a crybaby and not as a son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Pandora wasn't coming, but that stupid Auror from the Ministry was. _Snooping through all our cabinets, more like_, Mummy had said. Then she'd ordered Kreacher to hide some of their things in the attic.

Reggie thought the man looked like a lion wearing work robes. "My name is Auror Rufus Scrimgeour."

_An angry lion, who was used to winning fights with other lions._

"Yes sir, pleased to meet you," Reggie said back. He didn't say, _I'm not supposed to talk to Aurors_. It didn't seem right now that the man was here, looking all wild.

Auror Scrimgeour walked through the drawing room very carefully, looking at all the things in their cabinet and going '_Hmmm_' a lot.

He didn't _seem_ very terrible, but Daddy must have a reason for not trusting Aurors.

"This is where it happened?"

Daddy nodded to Reggie, so he answered, "Yes, sir."

"The boys were playing. Our elf was watching them." Daddy _lied_. Reggie knew Kreacher had been cleaning and Nurcher had been in the kitchen, resting.

Nurcher came in then, bringing the tea like she always did. She smiled special for Reggie when she passed him his cup, and he was extra careful not to smile back.

Mummy didn't like it when he was nice to the elves. _They are not your friends, boy. They're just house-elves_, she'd say.

"Hmmm," Scrimgeour said, scrunching his eyes at Nurcher.

"She is usually very attentive, but she's getting on in years," Daddy said. "Her son Kreacher also works for our family."

"Hmm. And these are all the artefacts? Nothing has been removed?"

Very very carefully, Reggie didn't think of the attic. (_We can't ever let them know about our special magic, or they'll take it away._)

Auror Scrimgeour pulled out a box from his pocket, with buttons and wobbly knobs and little flashing lights. "This is a dark-o-metre," he explained, but he didn't hold it so Reggie could see better. "It goes 'ding' when there's…stuff." He turned to Daddy then and said, "You wouldn't mind me taking a look around? Perhaps also in the library, and the attic?"

A heavy feeling sunk all the way to Reggie's toes. He wished he could disappear. Quietly, he excused himself and went to wash his face. Then he went to the airing cupboard and sat with Nurcher until it was suppertime.

"It's not your fault, young Master," she told him, running her twiggy fingers through his hair. "And there's nothing for that man to find. Don't you worry, Master Orion is a great wizard who always has a plan."

At dinner that night, Mummy explained that Auror Scrimgeour didn't find anything in the attic. "Nothing at all that even hints at what caused the explosion."

"Of course not," Daddy said. Then he smiled.

Nurcher had been right, Daddy always had a plan. Reggie was so proud in that moment. This was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and he was their son.

_And even better, Pandora was coming over tomorrow. He couldn't wait to tell her everything._

… x …

* * *

_How safe are YOUR Children?_

_The Black heir was the victim of a serious explosion, with only a house-elf on hand. Who is at fault? Can elves really be trusted? Were dark magical objects involved?  
What threats are there in every household? For a detailed guide on child-proofing, see page 8._

* * *

Mummy read the whole thing aloud after breakfast, with lots of tutting noises and sighing in between.

"If they don't find someone to blame, they're never going to stop investigating," she said.

Daddy scrunched his forehead and was very quiet for a minute. "This will be a major inconven—"

CRASH!

The breaking glass made Reggie jump.

They all turned to look, but it was just Nurcher, who had dropped a jar of jam. Bright red, it spread like a bloody puddle on the floor.

Then Nurcher snapped her fingers and it was all cleaned away.

Reggie didn't understand why Mummy and Daddy were still watching her like that. Daddy always said, _As long as you can fix your mess, it's alright. And if you cannot, trust me. I shall help make it all go away._

Daddy got up, his chair squealing loudly. "I must speak with Auror Scrimgeour today about putting an end to this investigation. It's bad enough the papers have a hold of it, who knows what they'll write tomorrow. Nurcher, you will accompany me."

Reggie was going to go with Mummy to go visit Siri in the hospital, so he went to wash his hands and change into proper robes. He didn't even run on the stairs (no matter how much he wanted to).

He told Siri all about his new friend Pandora and how she was coming over for tea and how Daddy was making everything be okay.

It was good. Siri was happy too, even though his skin was the wrong colour in places. Siri said red was a good colour on him, and maybe he would go to Gryffindor.

Reggie'd laughed himself silly—it was a funny joke.

… x …

When Pandora _finally_ came over Reggie couldn't wait to show her everything. They went through the whole house and then looked at the tapestry and the library and the drawing room (though they made an extra wide berth around the cupboards) and then his room which had paintings of clouds that moved on _all _the walls.

Reggie was very proud of those walls. Siri's rooms were a twinkling night sky, but his light blue was a lot more cheerful.

Pandora had brought her own set of knucklebones, so Reggie put aside the Gobstones game he'd set up. They settled down in the second sitting room to play.

"Did you get in trouble with the Aurors?" Pandora asked.

A happy grin spread itself across Reggie's face. _Mummy had explained to him that Daddy fixed everything, and that nobody would be asking any more questions or writing in the newspaper about Siri's accident ever again._ "I can't believe we got away with it! My Daddy is brilliant."

But then he remembered it wasn't nice to only talk about himself, or he'd be boring and horrible and like Lucius Malfoy. "What's your family like?"

Pandora started telling him a story about the time her mum got in a fight with her dad. It wasn't long after that Kreacher came in with a tray for tea.

"Isn't Daddy—erm, I mean, isn't _Father_ back from the Ministry yet?"

"Master Orion is in the study," Kreacher said in a funny voice.

"Where's Nurcher, then?"

Kreacher shook his head and walked out.

"Wait!" Reggie ordered, getting up to follow. "Where's Nurcher? Is she resting?"

Kreacher led them to the hallway wall and just stared.

There they were, the heads of the elf's ancestors. Reggie knew the story, he'd been told lots of times. "But where's Nurcher?"

Pandora was right there next to him, pulling on his sleeve. She was very nice, but it wasn't _helpful_.

_Where was Nurcher?_

Then, he saw where Kreacher was looking.

"What?" Reggie wanted his teddy, or a cup of cocoa.

There she was hanging, the elf that had sung him lullabies when he couldn't sleep. And brought him tea and biscuits, or cakes.

Her head.

_On the wall._

"How—?" He heard himself whisper. "She was a _good_ elf."

Then the image from that morning flashed in his mind: the broken jar, sticky redness on the kitchen floor. "Is this because she dropped the jam? I've dropped loads of things. Nobody ever hung _my_ head on the wall."

"You're not a house elf," Pandora pointed out, missing the point entirely.

"But it's not right." Reggie really didn't feel like playing knucklebones anymore—and besides, he didn't get Pandora's rules. "I don't understand," he whispered.

He suddenly realised Kreacher had gone, that it was just him and his new friend standing in the dark hallway. He led the way back to the sitting room, but no matter how close he got to the fire he still felt cold.

The smell of lemons and old people and fire burned in his nose again.

"It's not your fault, Reggie," Pandora was saying, just like she had in the Ministry.

Reggie knew she meant well, because she was gentle (and a girl) and not mean at all, just like cousin Cissa. "It wasn't Nurcher's fault either! She wasn't even s'pposed to be watching me and Siri play! We should never have opened that cupboard."

_He hadn't even wanted to do it, it had all been Siri, calling him a baby—_

And now there were tears running down his face. "I'm not a baby."

"I never said you were."

"This is all Siri's fault," he decided, sniffing. "If he hadn't gone and exploded himself then none of this would have happened and we'd still have Nurcher and everything would be _fine_."

Pandora was looking at him like he was a turnip. Even though everything was perfectly clear. _It was all Siri's fault._

"But Sirius is only six. That doesn't seem fair."

_Maybe _Pandora _was the turnip_. "If it isn't his fault, who else could it be? You said people don't get killed because of jam."

"Well, when my Daddy messes up the time-space contin-um Mummy doesn't talk with him for days after. She says sometimes he needs to be shown that he did something wrong."

Pandora sounded very sure about things. Like her Mummy knew all the answers. Maybe Reggie should ask Mrs. Pyxis why Nurcher had to die.

"Daddy said he'd fix everything," he remembered. "And Mummy said to hide all the dark artefacts in the attic." He thought about the words for a minute, now that he'd said them. "They lied," he realised.

_There was nothing in the attic, and everything that mattered was broken._

… x …

Reggie didn't remember much of supper, nor the next few days.

But when Siri returned, not sorry about _or even noticing_ what he'd done, Reggie was too mad to speak with him.

Mummy and Daddy were pleased he was home and pretended everything was normal. They told Kreacher to make Siri's favourites for dinner.

But Reggie could tell just by looking that Siri's veggies were overcooked, and that he'd gotten more sprouts. _It served him right._

… x …

Reggie woke up in the middle of the night, again. He knew he wasn't s'pposed to, _because he was five now_, but he sucked his thumb anyway.

"Master Regulus should be sleeping," Kreacher's voice croaked from next to his bed.

It was like magic, how his elf always knew when he had a bad dream. "I know, Kreacher. I'm sorry."

"Why? You have done nothing wrong, young Master."

_It was nice, to hear someone say it like that._ Of course, he knew it had been Mummy and Daddy and Siri who had messed everything up.

_But it still felt like if he'd tried just a little bit harder, maybe Reggie could have made it all un-happen. And then he'd have Nurcher bringing him cocoa._

_Or actually maybe he wouldn't be having bad dreams in the first place, full of the _CRASH! _of glass breaking._

"I'm sad," he whispered into the darkness. The clouds on the walls were moving like ghosts. "Mummy lied and Siri got really really hurt and Daddy didn't fix things and—"

Reggie took a few deep breaths, because he _wasn't_ a crybaby. "And I miss Nurcher. It isn't fair."

The house creaked around them, but he knew Kreacher was still there. _A__t least Kreacher would always be there_.

"Nurcher died for family. And now, Nurcher is watching over the House of Black. It is an honourable death."

The picture flashed before his eyes, and it made Reggie giggle. _Nurcher, the size of a giant, sitting in front of Grimmauld Place like a dollhouse and looking in through the window at him._

"_Sleep young Master, sleep_," Kreacher started to sing. His voice sounded like a rain spout.

… x …

* * *

* Regulus is five. He doesn't always remember that it's called St Mungo's Hospital.


	2. Raised Right

School and year: Durmstrang, year 7

Theme: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, theme focuses on the political views being an influence (for good or bad) on children.

Special Rule: Genre 'Tragedy'

Main Prompt: [Character] Pandora Lovegood

Additional Prompts: [Emotion] Jealousy, [Song] Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez

Word count: 3,300

* * *

AN: I've used the locus of Grimmauld Place for a few scenes, but mostly focused on Regulus's political views from his PoV contrasted with Pandora as he perceives her. Meanwhile Sirius tears the Black family apart from the inside. To my knowledge, this fic is canon-compatible.

For accessibility reasons I use '… x …' as a line break. For people (myself included) who depend on text-to-speech for their 'reading', the standard line break is not audible, while strings like W*WW*W are hellish.

Starting sentences with 'But' (and other agrammatical incidences) are a stylistic choice, as is the use of parenthetical asides. They were deliberately chosen to create a conversational tone compatible with my youthful narrator.

* * *

… … _Raised Right _… …

Regulus could hear them downstairs, arguing. _They were always arguing._

"—consorting with mudbloods and blood-traitors, a son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black—"

"—I don't _care_ what you think, mother—"

Regulus was about to melt with the shame of it all. His father always told him to comport himself with honour and pride. Toujours Pur.

Mother always said blood came first.

He might only be ten (_nearly eleven!_), but Regulus could tell there was nothing close to that going on downstairs.

Pandora reached out and patted his hand gently. "It's your turn, Reggie."

She was right, of course. Their knucklebones game wasn't going to play itself. Regulus didn't understand the rules, not really—Pandora seemed to make up a new set every time it suited her—but she was the only one who called him _Reggie_, and she said it so sweetly. Like she couldn't hear them screaming at each other.

(Regulus couldn't hear anything _but_ the screaming.)

… x …

Of course Pandora had gone to Ravenclaw. Regulus had wanted to go there too, but he'd followed his blood instead. Slytherin was honourable and _pure_.

It also made him feel terribly, terribly alone.

Meanwhile, Sirius pranced around Gryffindor with his trio of friends, not a care in the world. As if nothing their family had taught them meant anything to him.

The older Slytherins all looked down on Regulus, just a second son and spare heir. Lucius Malfoy did let him sit by the best fireplace once, but that was only because he was betrothed to cousin Narcissa.

The politics made Regulus' head feel like it was bleeding out his ears. It was impossible to keep up with, and there were days where he'd crawl up behind his drapes to cry. He felt wrong-footed and caught just one step behind everyone else.

Those were the times he would resent Sirius the most. It should have been _him_, battling it out as the Black heir, standing for their name and traditions and whatnot. _He'd been trained for it by father, for Merlin's sake_. Sirius had been taught lots of special spells by mother, too.

Instead it was just Regulus alone, tumbling day after day through an overwhelming barrage of homework, gossip, power plays…

Sighing into his morning tea, Regulus watched Pandora making new friends amongst the Ravenclaws.

… x …

His life condensed into one long wait for Thursdays, the only time he and Pandora could meet. It was enough to hold him upright for another week, though it was just a single study session in the library before she headed to Herbology and he had Potions.

A meagre hour and a half of sanity from all the _politics_ that were driving him barmy.

And here she was, mad at him for something he couldn't even help.

"Why do you let your brother bully Snape?" Pandora huffed, crinkling the page of her book as she shoved it aside. "You could say something, Sirius would listen. He loves you."

It was funny how anyone could believe _that_. Let alone Pandora, who was meant to be his friend. Regulus had thought she knew him best of all.

Something churned in the bottom of his stomach, dark and heavy and bringing an uncomfortable prickling to his eyes. He schooled himself. _A Black always comports himself with honour._ "You overestimate how much my brother values his family." He was proud of how calmly he'd said the words. "Sirius's gone out of his way to show how little he cares about us. Besides, Severus is a half-blood. There's nothing I can do."

There was something like pity in Pandora's eyes when she looked at him. Regulus scowled at his hands.

He didn't need her pity. Not from some trunk-maker's daughter. _How could she understand, with her happy little family that would let her grow up to be whatever she wanted?_

The black ugliness began to roil, bringing a bitter taste to his mouth. Before he could do something unbecoming, Regulus gathered his books. "I want to ask Professor Slughorn a question before class."

She nodded, eyes vacantly staring out the window at the clouds. _He usually liked that about her, the way she was caught in her own reality full of things the rest of them couldn't understand._

All by itself, Regulus's voice softened, "I'll see you next week?"

"Sure, Reggie," she said, and smiled in that special way that made the world warmer.

Of course, Regulus arrived at the Potions room far too early. But that was alright, because he caught Snape's eye coming out. Without really meaning to, they exchanged nods, and then they were ensconced in an empty classroom.

Swallowing down his apprehension at talking to someone older—_and so sour, Snape looked like his house-elf had put lemon in his sandwich_—Regulus cleared his nervous throat.

"What do you want?" Snape interrupted his thoughts. "It's Regulus Black, right."

The intonation made it clear it wasn't a question, but he nodded back anyway. "I wanted to apologise for my brother. Sirius—"

"_Black_," it was spat like an epithet, "is his own person."

Somehow every snarl and scowl made the second year less intimidating. Regulus was reminded of his mother, all swooping skirts and stern demeanour. He smiled, just a little. "Family is important. Thank you for accepting my apology."

Snape's black look was impossibly familiar, bringing with it pangs of homesickness Regulus hadn't been expecting.

"Is that all? I meant to ask Slughorn something," the older boy hissed.

Having nothing else to say, Regulus followed him to the Potions classroom.

It was clear Slughorn didn't like Snape, and it was even more obvious why. Even the Gryffindors knew Slughorn had attention only for influential names (or pretty faces).

Snape stormed out, all sparking eyes and simmering indignance. But this was Regulus's chance to apply all the _Slytherin_ he'd been learning. Wasn't this what politics was all about? A favour for a favour, all the way to the top?

"Hello, Professor Slughorn," he greeted, just the right amount of flattery in his voice.

"Regulus Black, my dear boy!" If the man were to speak any louder, his ingredient jars would rattle off their shelves. "Eager and early for class, I see."

"Yes," he replied, practising his smile. Slughorn saw right through him, but that was alright. Every Slytherin worth their salt knew they were all playing the same game. "Snape was just telling me how lucky we are to have such a skilled teacher as yourself."

Professor Slughorn puffed up, seeming to fill the dungeon, while his eyes glinted with cunning. "Severus Snape, is that so?"

It didn't require an answer, but there was an opportunity there. "He's very good at potions, isn't he sir?"

"Hmmm."

Naturally, a trio of Gryffindors chose that moment to burst loudly into the room—the chance was over.

But the next night there was a note on Regulus' pillow.

_What do you want? –SS_, it said in a spidery scrawl.

_Tutor me in Potions. –RAB_, he replied.

When there was no response for a week, Regulus decided to sweeten the pot.

_I'll pay you. –RAB_

… x …

If the other students had cared about first-year politics, they might have wondered that Snape sat beside Regulus at breakfast on Wednesday morning—especially because Snape looked so horribly reluctant about it. (The Slytherins weren't confused. They understood how things worked, after all.)

But over the year the older boy would buy himself new robes and leather boots, and start properly grooming his hair. It wasn't that he warmed up to Regulus or even talked much, but their company eventually looked less forced.

Less like there was someone threatening Snape into _friendship_.

Regulus' Potions grade made it to a stable O, while Slughorn tentatively invited Snape to a Slug Club meeting near the end of the school year.

None of that mattered, though.

Because when Pandora came to stay at Grimmauld Place for the usual week that summer, her smile was dazzling. (Shining like the muggle fireworks Sirius had snuck onto Grimmauld's roof with him to watch last New Year's Eve. Kreacher had even joined them, bringing blankets and cocoa).

She reached out to pat his hand, and things were just the way they had always been between them.

"Reggie," she said dreamily, entirely oblivious to the row going on downstairs. "It's your turn."

And although he still didn't really know how to play her version of the game (because Pandora came from someplace _other_, didn't follow the same rules as everyone else), Regulus cast his knucklebones and tried to catch them as they fell.

… x …

The screaming match between Sirius and Mother had lasted an entire month, until Sirius had packed his trunk and left for James Potter's manor.

Mother sulked for a week. A sliver of Regulus wished he could leave too. (The rest of him was thankful, _so thankful_ that Sirius was the disappointing son, because it meant there was little Regulus could do wrong anymore.)

The family was so focused on 'the Sirius problem' that they didn't look too closely at Regulus' difficulties networking, his bad Astronomy grade, the way he preferred to sit in the library reading (or on bad days, sit on the roof with Kreacher).

He had almost been a Ravenclaw, but nobody minded. After all, Regulus was just the second son.

_September first took forever to arrive._

… x …

His second year at Hogwarts was better. Regulus had some alliances now, and an older student teaching him wicked new spells.

(Though he'd never tell Kreacher, the food was better at Hogwarts, too.)

Their schedules worked out so he and Pandora could meet twice as often. By some miracle, Sirius and his gang mostly left him alone.

For the first time in a long time, Regulus didn't feel like he was drowning.

… x …

The following summer, Mother and Sirius barely talked at all. The silence hung throughout the house like a tangible thing, thick and suffocating.

When Sirius refused to attend, Father took Regulus to a Wizengamot meeting instead. Almost as if they were thinking of making him the heir, Regulus began being included in family affairs.

He and Father'd spend hours in the study discussing the House of Black's properties, finances, and alliances. They'd never spent so much time together before, and it made Regulus feel warm.

_Like he was important._

"You do our family proud," Father had said on Regulus' thirteenth birthday, his voice solemn and heavy as the hand resting on Regulus' shoulder.

In that moment he felt like he could fly, the sentence bouncing around his mind like that time Sirius had taken him _trampolining_.

But later, when he'd wanted to tell Pandora, the words had dried up in his throat. _You do our family proud_, Father had said.

_Had it been praise—or a threat?_

… x …

They were allowed to choose electives that year. Pandora had chosen Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

The House of Black had chosen suitable electives for an heir: Ancient Runes and Divination. They'd also signed his permission form to go to Hogsmeade, which was much more pressing.

He spent the weeks leading up to their first trip working up the courage to ask Pandora if she'd go with him.

Not _together_, mind. Just two people going out, doing things which admittedly might also be done by people who were courting. But it didn't have to mean anything. Not really. (Not yet.)

They sat across from each other at Madam Puddifoot's, drinking tea.

Pandora was having hers with a dash of cream and two spoons of honey this time. It had been lemon and sugar in July, but things were often _different_ with his friend.

"Do you know Xenophilius Lovegood?" Pandora said then, dropping the rest of their conversation about Hippogriffs.

"No," he replied honestly. "Who's that?"

"He's in Severus' year, in Ravenclaw. He has long blond hair and silver glasses, and talks mostly about Hinkypuffs, Red Caps, and Nargles."*

"I've never heard of those," Regulus admitted.

"Neither had I."

They lapsed into silence, their teacups warm in their hands and the steam a swirling shield against the October chill.

… x …

The next time he and Pandora meet in the library, Lovegood was with her. He spent the entire time talking about Red Caps.

(Pandora didn't take her eyes off him. Not once.)

Later, when Regulus scoured the library for mentions of Lovegood's creatures, he didn't find a single one.

He tried not to notice the twisting loneliness in his gut. He should have known life would take her away from him too, just like it had taken everything else. A bitter yearning pushed at his insides, all blue-green and heavy.

For the first time in years he cried himself to sleep.

… x …

Lovegood was at their next meeting too, and every one after that.

At least in Ancient Runes Regulus could spend time with her.

She'd talk about how her parents were doing, how the Lovegoods had commissioned a clock from her mother, how wonderful the clouds looked today—

—and how perhaps there were _Nargles_ about, causing _springtime madness_. Xeno'd told her she had a bad case of Flitting Humdingers, why else would her head spend so much time floating about in space?

Regulus copied down the runes off the board, concentrating on getting the shapes _just right_.

Inside him, a gurgling green-eyed monster grumbled its discontent. (He ignored it.)

… x …

_Dear Reggie_, the letter began, and all the letters that followed.

_Xeno and I have gone hiking in the Swedish forests, searching for Snorkacks. We've yet to find anything except pine-cones, but he reassures me Snorkacks are invisible._

And in the next letter:

_We found traces of Red Caps on an old battleground near Heath, so Xeno hopes we'll learn more about their behaviour. I've sent a picture of the purple toadstools we think they eat._

She'd sign each time with _Your good friend_.

They felt ever more like strangers.

There had been one photograph of the two happy adventurers, wearing odd swirly glasses and holding fishing rods. Regulus had folded it in half and kept it Pandora-side-up in his drawer.

It wasn't safe there, though. Cousin Bella would be visiting tomorrow.

He could hear her condescending voice already, her shrieking outrage.

_'What's this, baby Reggie, a muggle photograph? Wait 'til I tell your mother!'_

Or worse:

_'Does itty-bitty Reggie fancy himself in loooove? Who are her parents, anyway? Just common enchanters?'_

(He only ever liked it when Pandora called him Reggie.)

"Kreacher," Regulus called. The elf cracked in, solemn and faithful as always. "I need a fire."

The flames crackled merrily through the letters. They even accepted the muggle photograph with a hungry puff.

"Will Master Regulus be requiring some cocoa?"

He'd barely turned around and the good elf was already there, mug outstretched.

"Thank you, Kreacher. Sit with me awhile."

Sitting on the cold library floor, they watched the logs turning to cinders. The cocoa's warmth never properly reached his fingertips.

But the grey company beside him softened the twisting knot of grief that had started living in his bones.

_'I want Pandora to be happy, even if that means she's with him instead of me.'_

(Maybe, if he said the words often enough, they'd begin to ring true.)

… x …

One night, after another row with Mother, Sirius left and didn't come back. Regulus wanted to hate him for making the entire Black legacy rest on his own second-son shoulders, for dishonouring their name, for hurting everyone.

Regulus wanted to rant, and rage, and cry. Being the heir was nice, but it wasn't the way things were _supposed_ to be. Now they were all watching him, expecting him to always be the perfect son. To show the world that the House of Black was stronger than ever.

When he'd been the younger brother, he'd wanted _second son _things. To go to Ravenclaw, choose a nice Ministry job for himself, raise a family.

(But those had been childish dreams from a long time ago.)

All he felt now was numb.

… x …

Time raced, except when it crawled like treacle. The OWL exams were over and yet it felt like fourth year had started only yesterday. Looking back, Regulus wasn't sure how he'd managed any of it.

But he was a Black, _the Black_, of the Noble and Most Ancient House. He should be looking forward.

With practice, the game of favours granted and owed had become a familiar instrument. He played it with capable hands now, Snape a trusted second. Now that Lucius was graduating and soon to marry cousin Cissa, the Slytherin hierarchy was shifting. (It was always shifting.)

It took months to settle, but when it did Regulus was startled to find himself at the top.

It was only right, of course, considering his lineage. The Dark Lord Voldemort was already recruiting him, which was almost as impressive as Pandora's early recruitment to the Department of Mysteries.

Sometimes Regulus wished he were half as clever as she was. She'd know how to balance school politics and family politics and real-world politics.

He'd ask her, but she was always busy with Xeno. And he didn't want to bother her simpler life with his problems. (Inside him, the green-eyed monster pricked its ears.)

There was Severus, but he'd never understand. After all, he was a half-blood.

Regulus was a _Black_.

… x …

The ceremony of their marking was filled with acrid green smoke. The Dark Mark was ugly and smelled of burning flesh.

It hurt,_ of course it hurt_, but they all accepted it in utter silence.

He could see Lucius and Severus watching him, though it was Bellatrix he'd remember afterwards. Her grin was almost manic, but the pride in her eyes was unmistakable. Regulus was doing everything the heir of the House of Black should do.

They were all bonded now, united behind their cause.

_Death to all muggleborn!_

Well maybe not _death_. After all, somebody needed to shine the shoes of the magical, the _pure_.

(Wind their clocks. Enchant their suitcases.)

It was what Mother had always wanted for her son.

… x …

Right after the marking, the Dark Lord asked him to stay behind. It was intimidating and wonderful, a heady feeling of success. He might not be cherished like Bella, or favoured like Lucius. But it was…_something_.

He could still feel Father's warm hand resting heavily on his shoulder.

Then Lord Voldemort asked the House of Black for their house elf.

(In his heart, Regulus knew that Kreacher wouldn't be coming back.)

He thought of his loyal friend—always ready with cocoa, rasped words of comfort, and that crooked smile.

Something broke inside him then. The tangled knot in his chest dissolved into a crystal certainty.

He ordered Kreacher to serve, and then to _come home._

… x …

In Grimmauld Place, the residents wondered that they didn't see their heir all summer.

"Don't worry about the lad, he probably fancies himself in love," Orion reassured his wife.

(Upstairs in a room bedecked in Slytherin green, a young man nursed the elf that had raised him back from the brink of death.)

(Upstairs in his bedroom, a young man realised that there were _more important things_.)

He didn't set his affairs in order because he didn't want suspicion to fall on the House of Black. Nobody would know, nobody _could_ know. (They wouldn't understand anyway.)

It wasn't blood that mattered. Nor love, nor some broken concept of family.

Loyalty had raised him, and had raised him right.

Now, it was loyalty he was ready to die for.

… x …

* * *

*I know Red Caps are 'real' creatures. Their first canon mention I found is with Charlie Weasley, circa 1988 (though I am ignorant of the Fantastic Beasts franchise). In this story's universe, Xenophilius eventually discovered and classified these creatures.

'Hinkypuffs' are actually 'Hinkypunks' but Pandora doesn't know this when she says it.


	3. Interlude: Willow of the Valley of Tweed

School and year: Durmstrang, year 7

Theme: Plant Poisoning — look at how wizards and witches use plants as weapons and cures.

Main Prompt: [Plant] Whomping Willow

Additional Prompts: [Action] Getting into a fight, [Quote] "It's not whether you get knocked down, it's whether you get up" - V Lombardi

Word count: 1,100

* * *

AN: '_They'_ has become a common and acceptable gender neutral pronoun in the English language.  
I use idiosyncrasies in its speech patterns to reflect that the narrator is a tree at various stages of maturity.

Theme: The Whomping Willow is used as a weapon in canon, but also to protect Remus and his secret. I always assumed Dumbledore gave it the petrified-when-touched weakness, like the safety on a gun. For a sentient being, I imagine this 'freezing' would have been very confusing and traumatising.  
Prompts: In canon, students are portrayed as always getting into fights with the Willow, but treating it as a game. I played with the notion of it being both as the tree's personality matures.  
The quote was used to inspire the plot, becoming an essential part of the Whomping Willow's narrative. After being deeply shaken by its perceived failures, it is encouraged to return to its duties. Ironically these failures were caused by the wizards' choices, but Whomp doesn't know that.

* * *

Summary: The willow was planted as a guardian—to protect the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, to protect the students from lycanthropy, to protect Remus Lupin's greatest secret. And to assist in this mission it was given one weakness: the ability to freeze when touched...somebody should have thought this through. Whomp tells their story.

* * *

… … _Whomp _— _the Thwacking Willow of the Valley of Tweed_ … …

It was cold here.

That was the willow's first thought when they were planted.

It had been warm before, back in the valley where they had been born.

There had been gentle breezes and lots of sunshine, and occasional scuffles with the animals passing through. The willow had liked the Valley of Tweed. There had been many willows there.

Now the willow was alone, and it was cold.

The earth beneath was soft and loamy. It felt good to stretch out in. Curling their boughs, stretching their roots to the tippy-tips… The ground, at least, was warm.

There was a tunnel here. The big man with a booming voice but gentle hands had cradled the willow all the way to this new place. He had come with bright lights in the middle of the night, and left thrumming_ thud-a-thud-a-thud_ into the dawn.

"_Important_," the old man with twinkling magic had said to the willow. "_Guardian_."

The willow was small, and the tunnel in the earth beneath was gaping.

But the willow would grow big and tall and protective. The small woman whose hands tasted of soil had said so. "_Become big. Protect_."

Then the humans had poured magic into the soil, hot and green and precious. It had made the willow feel _alive_.

It was cold here. But the earth was warm and loamy, and the willow was growing strong.

… x …

The human saplings had come soon after, when summer had not yet passed. The willow had grown quickly, their limbs whip-fast and snappy.

The willow liked it when the human saplings came near enough to start a fight.

They would spar for a bit, the willow and the human saplings with their tickling-sticks. The human saplings would shoot out little sparks of magic that made the willow's roots shudder in delight.

The willow liked human saplings. They were fun. But when they got too much, too close, well—

The willow was a Thwacking Willow of the Willows-of-the-Valley-of-Tweed.

The willow had long branches—and even a few budding knots. The willow would go _thwack_ and the human saplings with their tickling-sticks would laugh and scream and run _thump-thump-thump_ up the hill to the Big-magic-stone-cave.

They called the willow "_Whomp_." It was a good name.

Whomp curled their roots into the loamy soil and drank the magic. Whomp grew big, fast and strong.

… x …

"_Protect_," said Old-twinkling-magic, holding out a human sapling like an offering.

Whomp reached out and prodded at it.

It had big ears but thin skin. The human sapling was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

_Protect_, Whomp decided. Shaking-like-a-leaf patted Whomp's trunk and gave them some of his magic. It tasted like the animals from the valley they'd been born in.

… x …

"_Friends_," Shaking-like-a-leaf said one day. He patted Whomp's trunk and gave them some delicious magic.

Whomp writhed with the pleasure of it, extending their boughs towards the heavens and their roots into the warm, hard earth.

They tasted each of the three new human saplings. Robin's-nest-on-his-head and Voice-like-a-barking-dog and Trembling-like-a-bird-in-the-branches all gave over some magic, too. Whomp preened.

"_Protect_," Shaking-like-a-leaf reminded, and Whomp understood. Whomp was big and strong. A guardian.

… x …

Other human saplings would come and play often. Sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. Whomp would bristle all their spines and stretch out all their knots, and then they would play a game.

The human sapling would try to get close to their trunk, while Whomp would pretend to be slow—at first. Then the human sapling would come closer, and closer. Whomp would get faster and faster until—

Well, Whomp was a Thwacking Willow of the Willows-of-the-Valley-of-Tweed. With a mighty w_homp!_ of their mighty whips they'd sent the human saplings with their tickling-sticks laughing and screaming up the hill to the Big-magic-stone-cave.

It was good to spar, and hone their instincts. It made Whomp a better protector.

… x …

Then, one night-which-was-bright-like-the-day, Shaking-like-a-leaf brought along his friends.

_Protect_, Whomp rumbled. Nobody else was meant to pass through the tunnel. Whomp had been planted here as a guardian, with long limbs and twisted roots. It wasn't right.

"_Safe_," said Shaking-like-a-leaf.

_No_. It wasn't right.

Shaking-like-a-leaf cast tingly-magic then, the kind that tickled and fizzled and crackled and popped. Whomp shuddered, stretching up in delight and—

Whomp froze in time. Or maybe time passed, but they forgot?

One moment Shaking-like-a-leaf was there, touching good-warm skin to Whomp's thrumming-hard bark.

The next moment they were gone. The four human saplings had all disappeared.

Whomp screamed and screeched and shook their thousand fisted knots at the sky. It wasn't right—_it wasn't right_—what had happened?

Later it occurred again. Shaking-like-a-leaf was there one moment—

The next moment the light in the sky had moved and the human saplings were gone.

Maybe this was how things were when human saplings grew bigger. Maybe their magic became more potent and dangerous?

Whomp would protect _better_ from now on. Next time a human sapling came near, Whomp would take it seriously. Fight until their limbs fell off.

Because before it had just been protecting. Now, there was an invisible danger to protect _from_.

… x …

There were many more times where Whomp would freeze and not remember. It made them angry. Livid. Frothing with madness and hurt. How could they _protect_ if they were suspended—out of place and time? They had been given _one purpose_.

Yet again, Shaking-like-a-leaf passed through with his friends, followed later by another human sapling. Whomp was frozen by him, too, not waking until he had passed.

Whomp had failed.

They guarded nothing and nobody.

… x …

Small-earthen-hands came to them that winter. She brought them magic every day. She sang songs and stroked their trunk and told them secrets.

"_Everybody falls_," she said. "_Willow is strong_."

Whomp did not feel strong.

"_Grow bigger. Grow higher_," she said, and fed them more magic.

Whomp did not see how this would help, but they picked up their boughs and stood taller.

Old-twinkling-magic came by once as well, holding an elderwood stick which tasted of fighting and fire. "_Safety_," he said, pouring tremendous magic from him like a storm.

He seemed tired afterwards—but Whomp had never felt so alive. They understood now.

_Guardian_, Whomp rumbled, feeling the way the word whipped about in their limbs. They were not weak. Old-twinkling-magic had made sure of it.

The knot at the base of its trunk brimmed with new magic. _Safety_, Whomp tasted the word.

They would do better from now on.

… x …

* * *

When I sat down to write, this came out instead of the _Regulus & Severus vs. Potter & co._ scene I had planned. I suffered a concussion last week, and the sheer frustrating helplessness and memory loss made me wonder—_that tree's obviously sentient. What's it thinking?_


	4. Writing Challenge: The Tell-Tale Heart

School and year: Durmstrang, year 7

Theme: explore those that commit crimes or go against the rules but are not inherently evil.

Main Prompt: Negative Pairing Dolores Umbridge/Sybil Trelawny

Additional Prompts: Regulus Black, "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both." Nicholos Machiavelli

Word count: 3,3k

AN: I've used the prompt _Dolores/Sybill_ to explore how Dolores' childhood and youth shaped her into arguably the most messed up character in canon regarding rules, laws, morality, and evil.

In her own fifth year she's very insistent on the rules, but simultaneously ready to break them whenever it suits her. To contrast her there's Sybill who breaks plenty of rules and doesn't care one way or another. Dolores is forced to weigh their friendship against her entire value system.

I've paraphrased the Machiavelli quote to better suit Mr. Umbridge, given his Pottermore characterisation as less educated and low status. Also, even though it's only mentioned once I have tried to show that Dolores very much lives by it.

* * *

… … I. Like Leaves, Vibrant and Rustling … …

It was sunny. Dolores hated sunny days.

Everyone was always in such high spirits, their minds already on the Quidditch pitch. It meant classes were full of students not concentrating on their schoolwork, the hallways were full of running first-years, and the tower classrooms were sweltering even before lunch.

Dolores forced her attention back to the front of the room. In her opinion, Professor Vector was far too young to be teaching something as advanced as Arithmancy. It made Dolores' skin crawl, knowing that her education was suffering because Headmaster Dumbledore couldn't find more _suitable_ staff.

And right there, in the first row as usual, sat Sybill Trelawney. Though she was just a fourth year, she was taking OWL-level Arithmancy.

_Trelawney shouldn't even be here. Let alone wearing non-regulation shawls and jam-jar spectacles_—Dolores loathed those glasses.

Every time Dolores looked at them she'd get sucked into stormy blue eyes.

It felt like Trelawney could see right into her soul. Like she was looking at everything Dolores was and finding her…wanting.

Dolores hated Trelawney, she really did.

But here, from the safety of two rows behind her, it was nice to just watch the younger teen work. She moved like a frantic insect, her expression wild as her hand scurried across the page.

With a start, Dolores realised she hadn't copied down Professor Vector's calculation and hastened to catch up.

It wouldn't do to be lazy. Dolores despised laziness.

… xoxox …

In the lunchtime rush, Dolores used her authority as a prefect to put several inappropriately loud second-years in their place. She took a total of five points each from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and two from Hufflepuff.

They scowled and complained childishly, as if it weren't their own fault. _Why didn't they just follow the rules?_

Their scorn was alright, though; Dolores didn't mind being hated. She'd grown used to it long ago.

… xoxox …

When she got to the library after her last class, it was almost empty. Only a few Ravenclaws were dotted about while everyone else was outside. It was the one good thing about the warm weather, having the the whole nook to herself—

Except for Sybill Trelawney, who was inexplicably occupying Dolores' usual table.

_What was her problem?_ Dolores fumed. There were enough other seats to go around.

She was determined not to let some magnificent insectoid bother her. With a meaningful cough, Dolores sat down and opened her books.

It was hard to ignore the way the sunlight sparkled off her classmate's glittery shawl. Dolores scowled at the monstrosity.

Huge jam-jar eyes smiled back at her. "Good evening, Dolores Umbridge."

For a moment she was uncertain if she was being mocked. Dolores deepened her scowl, just in case. "Trelawney. You're in my Arithmancy class."

"I know." Trelawney's voice was like leaves, vibrant and rustling.

"You're lucky I've already used up my daily allotment of points I can dock from Ravenclaw, or I'd be writing you up for a uniform violation."

"Was it luck, fate, or divine intervention?" Trelawney replied.

There was nothing she could say to that. Dolores uncapped her inkpot and did her work in silence.

Every time Trelawney moved, specks of light would dance across Dolores' parchment.

They reminded her of the fireflies on those Scottish summer nights back when Father would take her fishing.

By dinnertime, Dolores realised she'd gotten almost no work done at all. Her leg had fallen asleep.

Yet it was the most rested she'd felt in a long time.

… xoxox …

As always, Slytherin was a noisy mess of bickering children that night.

She felt like a stranger in her own common room. It would have been nice to be included in the arse-kissing and jostling for position. It was pathetic, childish politicking, but there was a difference between choosing to watch, and being uninvited to participate.

Dolores was a prefect, for Merlin's sake. They should be thanking her for all her hard work, for the way she was helping give them every advantage she could towards the House Cup.

But because she was a half-blood, she had little say in the shifting hierarchy of the snakes.

All her vicious cunning and intellect meant almost nothing; she knew she'd never have been chosen for prefect if there had been someone with a better lineage and more clout in her year.

She wasn't stupid, they weren't Hufflepuffs and life wasn't fair—but by Merlin, it _hurt _that every advantage she'd fought for could be taken and granted so easily by those above her. In the end, it came down to nothing more than chance.

Lucius Malfoy was already holding court despite only being a fourth-year. Using his status and charm, he was bedazzling the other purebloods and _purchasing_ their affections.

When Dolores had been made prefect Malfoy had bought her a trinket. She'd sent him a thank-you note in return, but they both knew the gift had only been a pretence.

Malfoy had been born with rights and privileges that Dolores would never come _close _to having. Everything he ever wanted would be handed to him on a silver platter because he'd won the bloodline lottery.

Dolores hated her mother for being a Muggle, hated her father for being poor, hated her brother for failing to contribute to their family name.

But most of all, she despised Malfoy and the likes of him for being everything she wanted but never would be. They would forever exist above these rules that Dolores was trying to live by.

"Prefect Umbridge," young Regulus Black interrupted her scowling, his manner far too gentle for a Slytherin.

She preened at the respectful address. He probably wanted help with his homework again, but at least the boy was a hard worker. It was difficult not to find his solemn earnestness endearing.

Some day, if she made the right connections and ingratiated herself to the right people, Dolores would make her own way into the ranks of the influential. She would prove herself one of them and rise beyond her weak, pathetic family name. Her ambition was to be the one _writing _the rules then.

The hat had placed her in Slytherin for a reason, after all.

… xoxox …

On Saturday, she caught the third-year Gryffindors starting fights by the lake again. Dolores broke them up, determined to hammer proper respect for rules and authority into their thick skulls. They were too mired in their blood-given rights to care, but she couldn't just stop _trying_.

She knew that they loathed her, but she didn't mind.

Dolores was long-accustomed to hatred.

… xoxox …

Sybill was at their library table again after lunch. Dolores wasn't sure when it had become _their_ table, and part of her still hoped the other girl would leave her alone.

There was nonetheless _something _about her that Dolores found fascinating.

Like the beetles her brother would burn with his magnifying glass, Sybill was mysterious, vibrant, and smelled like smouldering potpourri.*

They had been sharing the space for a month now, yet Dolores was still undecided if she liked Sybill or not.

She was definitely a distraction: all glitter, bangles, and sparkling rings. Dolores couldn't bring herself to take points for any of it, just because Sybill seemed to care so little for her house winning the cup.

And the girl wasn't even powerful, just a half-blood with a mediocre lineage like Dolores herself.

Dolores understood her own obsession with watching others. She coveted Malfoy's power, she adored the Black sisters' fierce beauty, she envied the Snape boy's affinity for potions, and she even admired Sirius Black's damnable ability to charm himself out of trouble.

_But Sybill?_ She left Dolores baffled. The fourth-year was pretty in her own long-limbed way, but her most defining characteristic was that she did whatever she wanted without giving a rat's arse about what other people thought.

It was nothing like what Dolores had been raised to value. She couldn't imagine living so carelessly, so _freely_.

Sybill was unfathomably dismissive of all society's rules. It was simultaneously admirable—and despicable.

* * *

… … II. Venus and Mars … …

Summer was approaching fast, bringing mosquitos by the millions. Regulus hated it, but he was more concerned with the anxious churning in his gut. Exams were inevitable, and Regulus wasn't ready.

His second year had been better than his first year, but still he was struggling to prepare for exams properly. He had to do at least as well as Sirius if he wanted his family to take him seriously. _Dying would be better than letting down the House of Black, and there was nothing worse than disappointing Father._

Despite all his studying, Regulus still didn't understand Transfiguration. Severus had helped him with Potions, and Pandora had scraped together a few moments to help him with Charms. Though he knew he was out of his depth, Regulus was lucky—the youngest prefect had proven very helpful and kind.

Umbridge was in the library again today. There was an older Ravenclaw there too, but they weren't talking to each other. Regulus sucked up his courage, squared his shoulders and approached.

He cleared his throat. "Prefect Umbridge, I was wondering if you have time to help me?" He'd noticed early on that she loved being reminded of her station. When Professor Slughorn gave him that badge, Regulus knew he'd be proud of it too.

A saccharine smile was directed his way. "Certainly, Black, take a seat."

Regulus never understood those smiles, tangled as they were in false affection and genuine charm. But he needed the help now, and Umbridge's debt would be easy enough to pay later.

… xoxox …

He'd almost finished his essay, just wanting a quick proofread from a prefect before he handed it in. Rounding the corner, he stumbled into a warzone. The air was crackling with stray magic, making Trelawney's hair stand mane-like around her head.

"You keep distracting me from my work," Umbridge hissed, more kettle than snake.

"Is the cause for your troubles truly worldly, or is it within you?" Trelawney said, her voice hardening.

"Stop changing the subject! It's your atrocious clothing that's the problem. It's in complete violation of the Hogwarts Charter, paragraph twelve, line 22, _'The school uniform is to be appropriately fitted and remain unembellished—'_"

_Had Umbridge honestly memorised the school rules?_ Regulus shouldn't have been surprised. It seemed like an awful amount of work, though. Besides, Umbridge was known for taking points for the smallest incidences of rule-breaking. _Shouldn't it be the spirit of the rules that mattered most?_

"Dolores," Trelawney said, her hands held out in surrender, "I don't want to fight. Let's go to the kitchens, perhaps a cup of tea will soothe the nerves? Then we'll see what the dregs say."

"There's no such thing as Divination," Umbridge spat, crossing her arms on the table.

The magnification of Trelawney's glasses was such that Regulus could see her tearing eyes from where he was standing. He backed up until he could hide behind the nearest shelf. It was almost like Sirius and Mother fighting back home.

"My great-great-grandmother Cassandra—" Trelawney retorted, voice wavering.

"Nobody cares who your family is, you're just a half-blood. In our world, that makes you a nobody."

Regulus winced. _That wasn't fair_. Besides, there were lots of half-bloods working in the Ministry, and even one in the Wizengamot. Umbridge had been made prefect despite her blood-status, too.

"If that's what you believe to be the truth, Dolores," Trelawney said, now quiet and firm, "then I pity you."

With that, the fourth-year stormed out.

Regulus wished he were back in his room at home, with Kreacher there to distract him from all the ugly words being said. Not wanting Umbridge to know he'd overheard, he sat quietly on the floor and waited. For over an hour, he listened to Umbridge's sniffing nose and scratching quill until she finally left.

… xoxox …

Regulus woke up in the middle of the night with his pillow soaked in blood. He touched his face to find it sticky, nose still dribbling.

_Another nosebleed._ He got them whenever he was anxious, had for as long as he could remember. Slughorn would know the spell to fix it, just like last year.

Sighing through his mouth and with a rag to his nose, Regulus slipped on a robe and headed for the common room.

The fire was down to its last embers and the sofas were deserted. Eerie green light glinted through the windows, casting too many shadows. Regulus lit his wand with a quiet _Lumos_.

"Hem," someone coughed from behind him, obscenely loud.

Regulus jumped. Spinning midair, he tripped and landed in a tangle of his own robe. He could feel the dripping from his nose had intensified to a proper gush. "Bwefect Uhm-bwidge," he identified her, heart thudding in his ears.

She had rushed over to help him up. "You're bleeding, Black, you're bleeding!"

"I know." He continued to Professor Slughorn's door, ignoring the fluttering older girl behind him for now.

Slughorn would explain why he was breaking curfew, then they'd all be able to go back to bed.

… xoxox …

Regulus was lucky; he'd managed to use Slughorn's drunken confusion and Umbridge's toadying against them. Now he'd been permitted a prefect-accompanied walk to the Astronomy Tower for some fresh air and a look at the sky.

Staring at the constellations always made him feel like his family was twinkling down at him. For a moment he'd be a little less lonely.

But when they got to the viewing platform, someone was already there.

"Venus is bright tonight," Trelawney announced, her voice like wind in the trees.

Regulus looked. It was indeed bright, though he wasn't sure what that meant.

"Astrology isn't real," Umbridge retorted, still panting from the long climb. She didn't even sound mad, just exhausted.

"That shows how blind you are to the fates, Dolores. The stars know all about our downfalls."

Umbridge had recovered her breath and her ire. "Is that why you're here, Sybill? Because you _know _I'll give you a detention for being out after curfew?"

Trelawney shrugged, making her bracelets clink. "The fates works in mysterious ways."

"There's no mystery to it. Detention, Sybill. You should try following the rules for once."

"Tell me, how has the system been working out for you?" There was a sad smile on Trelawney's lips.

Regulus felt like he was violating some intimate moment. He was deeply uncomfortable, stuck here between two fighting girls and the night sky.

"You know, I had thought we could be friends," Trelawney continued. "I see now that I was wrong."

"Good. I don't need your friendship. I certainly don't want it."

This time it was Umbridge who stormed off.

As she brushed past, Regulus wished the ground would swallow him whole. He felt light-headed.

Trelawney just peered at Regulus with huge, watery eyes. "Venus is bright, but so is Mars."

"I don't know what that means," he admitted. His blood was sluggish and his feet were cold.

"Neither do I. Come, let's get you back to your common room, child."

"I'm twelve," he protested, though it was true he wasn't quite sure of the way. The stairs especially liked to move after midnight, and he was still scared of getting caught by one of the trick steps.

He wished the castle were silent. The groaning, thumping, creaking, and crackling reminded Regulus of the boggart that lived in the unused sitting room back home.

"I thought Divination was one of the electives at Hogwarts, like Care and Runes?" Father always said it was best to begin small-talk with questions that are easy to answer, and then build from there.

"It is."

With a start, Regulus realised Trelawney was crying. Father had never said anything about talking to girls who were crying.

"Mother says if a girl is mean to you, it means she likes you," he offered, hoping desperately that the tears would stop.

"I think Dolores is mean to everyone and likes none of them."

Trelawney had obviously never been in the Slytherin common room. "She's nice enough to me."

"You have something to offer her in return."

Maybe Trelawney understood a bit about Slytherin, after all.

Her voice was crisp in the cool dungeon air. "Can you find the way from here, child?"

They had reached Slughorn's office, the common room wasn't far from here. Regulus bit his lip, then remembered he shouldn't bite his lip. "I have some sherry in my trunk, you could have it if you like?"

Trelawney smiled at him. Her tears, thank Merlin, had dried. "If you feel the need to give me something, that will do. But simple gratitude can take you far all by itself."

Regulus pondered the meaning of the words, wishing he were less groggy. "I will send it with a thank-you note," he decided.

Turning his back on her, he hurried back to his common room. Luckily it was Saturday, he'd be able to sleep in.

… xoxox …

Umbridge sat down across from him at lunch, her eyes red and expression grim. "I apologise for leaving like that last night. It wasn't proper."

There had been what Father would call _extenuating circumstances_. "It's alright. Trelawney walked me back."

The prefect sniffed delicately. "She's a good girl, despite her disregard for rules, and the inflated importance that she gives—" Umbridge coughed, "—_Divination_."

"Why were you so mean to her, then?" Regulus was still hoping there'd been a good, valid reason for it. He didn't want Umbridge, whom he thought his friend, to have been mindlessly cruel.

"My father always told me, _It's better to be feared if you're not going to be loved. At least then you'll get respect__._ It's how he raised me," Umbridge said. It was an odd thing to expose about herself—Regulus felt caught off guard.

He mulled over the words long after she'd left the table._ Was hatred really the opposite of love?_ He didn't really hate anyone, and all he feared was Father's disappointment and the sound of Mother and Sirius fighting.

He was fairly sure nobody really feared or hated him, but they didn't respect him either. He was, after all, only twelve.

_What about love?_ Besides Kreacher and his owl Antares, he wasn't really sure he properly loved anyone. All his books had said that the only real, _true_ love was unconditional. _How was that even meant to work?_

There were a lot of people he was fond of, though. He even liked Umbridge, who had been kind to him so far. It wasn't _right _that she'd just cast Trelawney aside. People weren't meant to be cruel to one another.

Regulus wasn't properly sure what love was meant to feel like. Over at the Gryffindor table, Sirius was dancing on his bench—his brother hadn't spoken to him since summer.

Regulus' eyes caught on his childhood friend Pandora, laughing and chatting with her fellow Ravenclaws. He _thought _he loved her…

They'd been friends for years before Hogwarts and they still met to study together sometimes. Yet he felt like they barely had time to really talk. She'd grown so distant by now that they were almost strangers. He couldn't even pick the sound of her snorting laugh out over the din anymore.

_The idea was wrong_, he decided, feeling his insides drop as Pandora left without even glancing his way. _The opposite of love wasn't hate, it was apathy._

Just like Umbridge had said, maybe having someone feel _something _for you—anything at all—was better than this.

… xoxox …

*The mismatching imagery is intentional. I know beetles don't smell like potpourri. It doesn't quite make sense because Dolores is in weird sort of lust/entrancement, and because people think weird things sometimes.


	5. The Tell-Tale Heart

Story Title: The Tell-Tale Heart**  
**School: Durmstrang  
Year: 7  
Word Count: 665  
Technique: Flashback  
Prompt: (sound) Ticking

AN: I've gone the Edgar Allen Poe way with this, interpreting a thudding heartbeat as a form of 'ticking'. Seeing as 'we welcome creative interpretations' I hope this still counts towards the prompt.

5—It wasn't really trepidation he felt as he eyed the potion—more a cold sense of inevitability. He could sense his whole life stretched out in a long line leading up to this moment. He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest, like it knew it had little time left to condense the rest of his existence into. With steady hands Regulus dipped the goblet into the potion and drank.

* * *

**The Tell-Tale Heart**

It wasn't really trepidation he felt as he eyed the potion—more a cold sense of inevitability. He could sense his whole life stretched out in a long line leading up to this moment.

He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest, like it knew it had so little time left to condense the rest of his existence into.

With steady hands, Regulus dipped the goblet into the potion and drank.

It had no taste, though it instantly made the world swim around him.

Everything was moving—or nothing was moving. He was dizzy. Bile rose in his mouth, but no matter how much he retched he couldn't throw up.

* * *

His heart skipped several beats. It stuttered...or maybe time stuttered? Kreacher's bulbous eyes were looming above him. It seemed like the elf was very, very far away.

Somehow he swallowed another mouthful.

Time crawled.

His pulse continued to race.

* * *

It hurt. Everything hurt. His joints hurt and his head hurt. There was a crushing pain as if a buffalo* were standing on his chest. His heart was thudding in his ears. Gasping for another breath, Regulus fought for…something, any little flicker of light.

It didn't matter that he was dying. It mattered that he died _well_.

"More, Kreacher."

Through the pain, he was aware of a cup being pressed to his lips. Regulus drank.

* * *

His thoughts were tricky, treacle, mud...he couldn't really put his finger on it. He couldn't move at all, really.

When he tried to open his eyes he couldn't see. There was no energy with which to panic. He could feel the tears running down his face. He could feel the grief that had been his constant companion welling up and becoming _everything_.

Sirius and Mother's never-ending shouting was echoing in his ears, rising and falling while his pounding heartbeat counted out the passing time.

Everything hurt.

"More, Kreacher."

* * *

He could see shapes and lights, though he knew nothing was really there.

_I am in a cave with Kreacher. _

He could smell the burning flesh from the night the Dark Mark had been branded into his skin. Cousin Bellatrix' proud smile was gleaming down at him with a mad malice.

_We are here because the Dark Lord's Horcrux must be destroyed._

He was sitting by the black lake, feeling the burn of Pandora's absence beside him. "You should think about who your friends are, and what really matters," she had said before she'd left, stabbing him with her disappointment.

_I need to do this. He must become mortal once more._

"You _will _make this family proud," Father was saying, clapping his hand against Reggie's shoulder. His heart was swelling in his chest, hot with false belonging and foolish pride.

_I must not fail._

"Kreacher," Regulus gasped, relieved when soothing cool hands gripped him. "More." He did not know if there was anything _real _besides the searing pain.

The potion was tasteless in his mouth. His blood burned staccato in his veins.

* * *

Clarity came with the sound of the cup scraping against the bottom of the stone basin.

There were so many things...so many, _many _things.

His life had been too short.

There had been too little time for living but too much time for regrets.

He regretted everything—all of them, from Sirius and Mother, to the Dark Lord and Lucius—

"Master," Kreacher rasped, ever-faithful beside him.

It was impossible to follow his jagged thoughts. They tapered off into clouds or mist, like strange intangible things.

"Master," Kreacher repeated, pressing the cup against Regulus' lips.

There was only him and Kreacher and the thudding, pounding inevitability of his pulse counting out the moments of his unlived life.

Regulus drank.

* * *

He was thirsty.

Silence had fallen. Even his heart had ceased its relentless beating.

There was water everywhere. He gulped greedily.

Something was pulling at his limbs but there was no room for fear…

No room for anything.

The pressure surrounded him.

His thoughts were of Kreacher—good, faithful Kreacher.

_The elf would obey._

Regulus drank.

* * *

AN: This buffalo is, of course, a reference to the wizard Baruffio and his lesson in being clear in the meaning of everything you do.


End file.
